


Get the Best of Me; Get the Last of Me

by amoralagent



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angry Hannibal, Barebacking, Biting, Blood Kink, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Brutal Murder, Canon-Typical Violence, Dark Will, Don't Try This At Home, Hannibal is a Cannibal, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, I suppose, Jealous Hannibal, M/M, Murder Husbands, Plot Twists, Porn With Plot, Possessive Hannibal, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, References to American Psycho, References to Canon, Rough Sex, Sassy Will, Scar Worship, Spit As Lube, Unsafe Sex, Vomiting (mentioned), Watch out for that, Will Graham Doesn't Need Help, Will Graham is a Cannibal, maybe???????, will is a little shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-15
Updated: 2018-01-15
Packaged: 2019-03-05 00:43:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13376511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amoralagent/pseuds/amoralagent
Summary: "Are you here alone?" The suite was large, much too large for one person. Will simply undid the button of his suit jacket and observed the impatient control with which he was taking off his shoes and overcoat."Yes." His eagerness for him was almost heartbreaking. Almost.Will goes fishing for men. Hannibal lands the catch, and kills it in front of him. He might be angry enough to kill Will too.





	Get the Best of Me; Get the Last of Me

**Author's Note:**

> For some reason, I feel less guilty about writing this FILTH if I just don't explicitly mention cocks? Weird, I know. I challenged myself to write something more _bow-chicka-wow-wow_ , so this is my first time writing cheeky stuff (porn), so don't get too critical. Pretty please. 
> 
> It's more kinky than originally intended, but y'know, they started it.
> 
> Also, it references Hannibal's wrist scars, which I don't know if people will be triggered by. Sorry if it does.
> 
> Enjoy, anyway. Will sure did.

"Are you here on business or pleasure?"

Will could've recoiled at the question, but didn't. He simply turned towards the man with a quirk to his brow, suggesting surprised intrigue. He'd seen him approach, observing that he was a tad smaller in height, but composed, over-confident in his gait: "Depends who's asking." At that, he brightened slightly, smiling, glad to have judged the situation well- or rather, Will's situation, as in, an assumption of his sexuality. Will took another sip of whiskey and tried his hardest not to let his exasperation mar his expression.

"You look dressed for business." His drink was placed in front of him, a beer, and just before he took a swig his eyes clapped to Will's again, lips brushing the rim of the bottle: "Or for attention." He said it like it was an afterthought, and that, combined with the innuendo, made Will feel like his suit was suddenly _too tight,_ consciously turning his uncomfortable fidget into a way of sitting back in his seat at the bar; facing him more, a small smile, a knee placed within arms length. It didn't go unnoticed. By more than one party.

"Hm. And yourself?" He flicked his gaze down over him, and back up, inclining his head minutely to draw attention to the line of his throat.

"For now, pleasure. At least, I hope so." Will scoffed a laugh. The look he was giving Will was almost violating. But it was only because it was half-unwanted, did it make him feel so itchy. As nice as it was for his self-esteem to have this somewhat attractive, younger man's very apparent affection- albeit very blunt- it was pretty fucking suffocating. _He'd be sensitive to rejection,_ Will noted.

"You can keep hoping."

He put down the beer in his hand too hard, but his face didn't change, "Don't I know you from somewhere?"

"Does it matter?" Decidedly, Will didn't listen when he said something in turn- choosing instead to take two long sips of his whiskey, sedating his thoughts: "It's a pleasure to meet you." He offered a handshake and Will took it, then pulled him in to speak lowly beside his ear, hot breath landing on his skin, "So. Are you going to sit there ogling me for the next twenty minutes?" He lowered his voice to rumble, "Or are we going to go upstairs, so you can fuck me like you came here to do?"

When he leant back, he grinned disarmingly, gone once he looked away, watching as the man's pupils widened and admiring how easy it was for him to make such an impression on someone. He pulled his hand away and casually downed the rest of his whiskey, and ignoring the doors to the bar opening and closing out of the corner of his eye. Will said nothing else as the drinks were quickly paid for.

Not receiving a comment about the lack of security camera coverage the room received, and what it implied about privacy, nor any unwanted contact as they came out of the elevator, Will sighed undetectably and opened the door. The light of the hotel room was a touch orange, painting the dark colour of the curtains crimson, and making the gold embellishments of the bed's quilting sing. It was Will who locked the door shut behind them, toed off his shoes, and walk past the man to pour himself another drink from the mini bar: "Are you here alone?" The suite was large, much too large for one person. Will simply undid the button of his suit jacket and observed the impatient control with which he was taking off his shoes and overcoat.

"Yes." His eagerness for him was almost heartbreaking. _Almost_. The only pity he really felt was for the bed sheets by the end of the night.

With a mouthful of bourbon, Will put the rest of the drink down, not intending to finish it, and not given time to, because all of the sudden there hands on his neck and hips, pushing his jacket away, crowding him against the wall. Kisses were applied to his jaw and down the side of his throat when he tilted his head back to avoid his lips. He couldn't quite help his eyes fluttering closed, wanting to imagine someone else- indulging him a moment too long.

Abruptly, once he felt the man's obvious arousal heavy against his thigh, Will swiftly grappled the fumbling hands away from his flyers and pushed him off of him, breaking for only a second before he yanked off his own suit jacket and threw it at him, teasing. Unbeknownst to him, his eyes were darker, intense, staring down the man like a threat- and would've been taken as such, in another situation- but wore a careful smirk as he took off his tie, dropping it to the floor in one fluid motion.

In response, a shirt was unbuttoned and flicked away, a belt hurriedly pulled off, landing on the floor with a clink, walking backwards to the bed. Without any warning, when Will approached, he was suddenly pushed down onto the mattress on his back, his wrists pinned to the bed. He loosened his grip a tad when Will made a noise like a growl underneath him- he didn't move fast enough, and grimaced into a hungry kiss, turning his face away when it broke.

He stifled a flinch when a tongue made contact with his ear, he was asked if he _wanted it really bad_ , and if he was _aching for it for all this time,_ and anything else that sounded downright pornographic, rolling his hips against Will's thigh again. Even though Will didn't respond, the eager hands moved to rip off his shirt, exposing the toned meat of his collarbone and moving to suck at it, before a shadow rose up behind him.

A stronger hand grabbed the back of the man's hair, rearing him up, and there was a blade quick against the taut, thin skin of his throat, and all Will saw and smelt and tasted was blood.

Two sets of eyes watched as the man got up, despite the red lashings of hot liquid spurting from his neck, and turned, dazed, struggling to walk past the end of the bed. His gaze falling to the knife, up to skin stretched over a shadowed skull, a figure broad and black. A hand reached up to touch the wound, as if sucked into a nightmarish breed of reality that he'd eventually be awoken from. Eyes wide, his irises cinched black, his vision swam. Then visibly glazed. He crumpled into a pile of limbs, a pool of deep red around him reflecting him like a mirror.

The guy's blood had soaked through his shirt, plastered across his face and hands as he bought them up to shield himself; some had even sprayed directly into his mouth, cloying on his tongue- it made him want to spit. Given a small moment of composure, Will moved to sit up, but swallowed when the same knife was pressed to the pale column of his throat, lying back down. He blinked his left eye repeatedly as it teared up, burning when he opened it. Even with the new body weight against his own and a bloodied blade held at arms length threatening against his jugular, he wiped the area clean with the back of his hand when he moved to itch, "You got it in my fucking eye."

The voice that answered him was almost conversational: "You should've closed them."

"And miss all the fun?" Will averted his eyes for a split second to confirm the cooling body and all the blood, "You were _supposed_ to wait under the bed until restrained him." They were going to make a night out of it too, provided the noise levels were kept to a minimum. They wanted to make a tableau, and for once, not kill them in their own house- they'd heard of a nice hotel that attracted certain guests, and Will had made the decision for them. Mix things up a bit. It had been years since they had FBI hounds sniffing at their trail, and their own company had become stifling. So, y'know, _carpe diem_ and all that shit.

The look Will was getting now told him to be _very_ careful about what he said next: dead stare and demeanour affectless, as if Will was a complete stranger to be easily rid of. Unbothered, Will tilted his chin up in spite of the knife, goading him, "That was very _impulsive_ of you, Hannibal." At the mention of his name, he moved closer, leaning over him with a leg between his own.

"He was going to hurt you." Came the smooth reply, seemingly unconvinced himself in the raise of his brow, "Would you rather that I let that happen?"

"Bull _shit_." Will spat the blood at him. Hannibal didn't flinch as it landed gracefully on his shirt, and Will smiled, "You couldn't bare to see him touch me."

"Were you going to let him- _touch_ you- as I waited under the bed?" He seemed genuinely curious. The thought had occurred to Will, briefly. It intrigued him what would happen if he had asked that of Hannibal, and if Hannibal would be able to endure, but didn't intend to do so. He decided not to deign it with an answer.

"Look at you, you're still jealous now. Even after you've slit his throat." Will mocked, providing an adjustment to the angle of Hannibal's head, in appreciation for the utter painting before him, and-- _thoughtful_. In a sort of contempt. His grip on the handle shifted and tightened, and Will's stare hardened, "Stop pretending you're going to kill me."

"Am I pretending?" In that moment, Will couldn't tell. Hannibal studied him, "Do you think that I can't?"

The knife dimpled Will's skin as he leant up on his elbows, just short of cutting into him. The white of his teeth cracked through the startling red: "You can _try_." Hannibal's eyes were fixed on his, mouth ghosting over Will's, his wrist held in place to keep the knife still. It pushed, and slipped, breaking skin.

With a stifled cry of surrender, feeling the heat of the blood, Will's grip faltered, and at once Hannibal surged over him, mouth against the cut. Savouring, but not gentle. There was a scrape of teeth as he bit down. A dark noise unhinged from deep within his chest when Will failed to suppress a groan and leaned into the touch with a curve of his spine.

Will absently marked it somewhere in the back of his head about this newfound tendency for biting bruises into him in places hard to conceal. It was deliberate, transparently so, but the intention behind it was more unclear.

Before they knew it, they were tearing clothes from one another with scrabbling hands; the frenzied scuffling of two predators fighting in the dark. Sighs of _please_ and responses of a tongue's warmth and the danger of pointed teeth on his chest. Will feels hot purples and reds forming like fingerprints on the tender meat of his thighs when Hannibal grips them, making space for himself between them, the heat of his wide palms against his fragile ribcage.

Stripped bare, only dressed by the ugly stains of blood seeping into the lines of his skin, Will was hardly silenced by the offering of fingers clumsily pushed past his lips to be sucked on intently. Will was louder still as the wetted fingers that were in his mouth were taken, bought low and out of view, and quickly pushing into him. Hannibal opened him up with this deceptive air of unhurried grace, like none of it had effected him, "How jealous did you want me to be, Will?" He asks, breathless, right against his ear as he curls his fingers inside him cruelly, pleasure suddenly so violent Will's expression twists.

" _You_ \--" He flicks his wrist again. Will near-enough convulses, biting back his words and exhaling a kind of whine. Swiftly, a hand came up to hold onto Hannibal's throat, a thumb pushing into the softness just under his jaw, and the action was accepted in the encouraging lift to his chin. Hannibal's eyes were black when they met his, snarling: "Jealous enough."

"Jealous enough for me to kill you?" Will's grip tightened, pushing against Hannibal's windpipe for a brief moment, as if in warning.

"Enough-- for you to show me _this_. For you to scare me." And when Will moved to lick and nip at a line of blood-spatter from Hannibal's jaw, he feels the snarl against his neck, gasping as strong hands are then pulling him flush against him, entirely too soon, but his thighs raised in tandem, and he was seated against the angle of his hips.

At that, Will's eyes almost rolled back in his head and he moans loud past a scowl, wincing at the burning sensation of pain crossing pleasure. His hand curled round to dig his nails into Hannibal's scalp and pull him against him entirely. And Hannibal was still. Adjusting, for a moment, placing open-mouthed kisses along his collarbone up to his ear, pausing there, his mouth lingering at the scar on his cheek.

They breathed as one beast, just like they bled as one.

"Tell me what you want." Will's brain fizzled at the instruction, his whole body concentrated on its fluttering and quivering at the intrusion, liquid heat pooling deep at the base of his spine, leaking whilst trapped between their bodies.

"Let me _see_ you." He managed, unwittingly roiling his hips, friction delicious and unbearable. Words slipped past him, mind fogged up with the punishing want of movement and noise and the stark awareness that he could come untouched with Hannibal filling him up, caging him in. He wanted to say to _not hesitate_ , to _bend him to his will_ , voice a insurmountable desire to be taken wholly from the devil incarnate and be reminded of it for weeks.

He wanted to commit every detail- this _feeling_ \- to bright and carnal memory, unwitnessed even by God. Hannibal could probably decipher it in the way his body undulated under him, expression dark with foreign blood and strikingly open, a hand pulling at his hair as he said: "I want _all of you._ " And kissed him fiercely, clashing teeth, and Hannibal's blood caught on his tongue as he felt him start to piston his hips, pace unrelenting and grip vicelike.

"You already have all of me." Hannibal rumbled, losing himself to some cardinal urge he hasn't yet learned to suppress, twisted roots of ownership and possession making him ravenous. Will could only clutch onto him, pull at the hair on his chest, mouth falling open in blissful agony. Hannibal was biting at his neck again when Will secured his arms around his broad shoulders, thoughts wiped out by arousal.

For a flash, the smell of the sea and a throat being torn out with the same teeth alight in his mind, a final embrace at the edge of a cliff, and he moaned so loud he swore it echoed. He met every thrust, clenching his thighs around hips, submerged in ragged breaths and scandalous noise of skin-on-skin, more than willing to oblige and revel in everything Hannibal gave him.

It didn't quiet for a moment as he was pulled off of the mattress and onto Hannibal's lap, swearing through gritted teeth, the upward angle piercing, every other movement hitting the spot that made him gulp in air and gave him chills. He could feel Hannibal's powerful thighs rippling under him, hear him growling his name, keening, muttering atrocities in languages Will couldn't understand.

Dangerous hands ran up the expanse of back, those same dexterous fingers that have caused such pain wrapping around him, bites and branding kisses being applied greedily to his chest. Will felt like he was being torn apart.

His hair stuck to his forehead, blood still slick on his face mingled with sweat, Hannibal's tight embrace making him frighteningly aware of the danger he was in, and feeling himself twitch at the thought. Choking on sobbed curses, the already abusive pace quickened, losing it's rhythm, and Will felt the rest of the world begin to close in around him.

He had wanted this to last for hours- to be thrown around and taken with his face pushed to the floor, shoved up against a wall, picked up like a ragdoll and fucked into the mattress. He wanted to feel owned- _possessed_. Submitting to everything Hannibal offered him. He wanted to do the same in turn. 

But the tension was building and building, burning white-hot, down to his very core, and he grips Hannibal's hair and growls: " _Hannibal_ \--" And a hand is suddenly on him, stroking all too fast, so when the force of his blinding orgasm hits him and he comes and comes and comes, so hard he almost pushes them both to the floor, he can hardly register as Hannibal comes too, nestled to the hilt, both convulsing and shaking. Heat unfolded itself somewhere deep inside of him, and he kissed Hannibal's mouth with a feral hunger, sated, aching. They hold each other, as if they are falling, again, hearts beating loud in the dark.

Once they both could breathe correctly, Hannibal carried an exhausted Will to the ensuite shower. Despite his heavy lethargy, Will still attempted to touch himself as Hannibal pressed him to the cool tiles and cleaned up the mess he'd left inside him with naught but the workings of his jaw.

They breathed _I love you_ to one another and kissed gratuitously under the spray of water, held in an ether of bliss and intimacy reachable for few to achieve, or ever hold the desire to.

Will thought little of the crime scene they still had to attend to, wishing to be carved into Hannibal's grounding embrace like two souls trapped in stone. He could never tire of this-- what roamed between them, inside them.

"I should make you jealous more often." Will mused to himself, Hannibal only humming in reply, drying himself off with a towel and stepping into slacks. Will pulled a shirt carefully over his head and down his marked chest, noticing how his muscles were only now beginning to hurt. He kissed the scar tissue on the jut of Hannibal's cheekbone as he passed him. He sensed Hannibal behind him like a shadow as he glanced down at the cold body on the floor, "Did you lay your claim to dissuade other people? Or to remind me?"

"I don't believe you need reminding, Will." Hannibal's hand curled round his hip and settled on his stomach, definitely not unintentionally, and Will sighed, leaning back.

"I don't." Will conceded, smiling a little, "But next time, we adhere to plans. Bloodied hotel sheets draw too much attention." The idea of going full-on plastic sheets, like some kind of American Psycho recreation, made Will snort when it was suggested prior. Perhaps he should've listened. He placed a hand over Hannibal's, trailing down the raised line on his wrist: "It's a shame. I liked him."

"I'm afraid that I never shared that sentiment."

Will wanted to scoff at that, but didn't: "You've always been reckless in your anger."

"As you've been radiant." Hannibal offered, nosing at his dampened hair and inhaling the scent of musk and salt underneath soap, "We need to move him before other guests recognise a smell."

"I do love it when you talk dirty to me." Will quipped, and Hannibal reluctantly moved away to fetch a suitcase from the top shelf of the closet. It was lined with plastic when he opened it. Will laughed, " _Really?_ "

A smile was present in Hannibal's eyes, "I'm afraid there are hardly any better options." Will considered him, the absurdity of it all. _Like some sort of lame, satire, cartoon shit. Laughable_.

"What the hell do we do with him? A spit roast?" Will sneered.

"He won't stay fresh; we can't preserve him." Hannibal reasoned, standing there half-naked, looking picturesque with a folded corpse by his feet, outlined in blood: "The design we planned wouldn't be the same."

Will, still smiling- the curious creature he was- crossed over to their small supply bag on one of the bedside tables, flicking open a switchblade: "So, change the design."

 

Two heavy knocks were placed just beside the _Do Not Disturb_ sign late the following afternoon, "Room Service!" The doorknob turned, but the room was locked. No one had answered all morning. Soon enough, the maintenance guy was called up, and managed to get the door open. He entered the room slowly, waiting to be shouted away or hear the sounds of sex, but the clammy smell of decomposition quickly wafted towards him, and when his gaze clapped to the bed he threw up in the nearby trashcan.

The building was put on lockdown when the authorities began swarming the place. Between camera flashes and the rustle of evidence bags, the body of the wanted criminal Matthew Brown was lying face up, chest opened up, most of his organs removed post-mortem; his heart in one hand and knife in the other.

Wrists slit. His face tilted up to heaven.

**Author's Note:**

> This work was bought to you by: Awful Sleeping Schedules!


End file.
